Immortality
by Piccolo is green
Summary: Vegeta's quest for immortality leads him to seek advice from an unlikely ally. Post-Namek. Rated M for language only.
**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

A/N: This fic is in response to a comment made by betaruga on Tumblr about Master Roshi's immortality: " _Now I want Roshi to have a conversation with angry, post-Namek Vegeta about how immortality isn't as great as it's cracked up to be"._

It's not the usual kind of story I write, but I'm all for trying out new things.

Rated M for language only.

* * *

 **Immortality**

Vegeta had been quiet lately.

By quiet, Bulma meant _really quiet_ (because, let's face it, she never got more than a grunt out of him on most days anyway). The kind of quiet she hadn't seen from him since the first night they had returned from Namek. The kind of quiet that meant that he was thinking, assessing the situation, and that he was up to something. It was the kind of quiet that made her really nervous for no other reason than that it made alarm bells ring in her head.

So, it was with trepidation that she entered the lounge, where she found Vegeta sitting _in her favourite spot god-dammit_ on the sofa, watching the 6pm news. This was the fifth day in a row that he'd done this – something completely out of character for a guy who usually trained from dawn 'til dusk, scoffed his face at the dinner table (gobble 'n go, her mother called it) and then promptly went to bed. And yes, Bulma knew all this because she had let her stalker-tendencies run free when it came to the alien Prince, telling herself that it was a matter of public safety that she knew everything that he was up to while on planet Earth, and no, hiding cameras in his bedroom was not too excessive or creepy, given his murderous history.

Bulma sat in her father's armchair, the familiar smell of cigarette smoke and oil enveloping her as she sank into the old cushion. She stared across the room at Vegeta, and for once, he stared back.

 _This is it_ , she thought, although she had no idea what 'it' was.

"Tell me," Vegeta began (as usual, with a demand rather than a polite request), "it has been a year since Earth's dragonballs were last used, yes?"

 _Uh-oh._

"Ummm, I'd have to check the date… I'm sure it's not until next month?" Bulma blathered, suddenly frozen under his cold stare. He had a very serious face at the best of times, now he was looking at her as if she was something he could take away and dissect.

She was never the best at lying under this sort of pressure. The dragonballs were, in fact 'live' again, and had been for the past five days.

 _Oh._

"Why do you care about the dragonballs so much?" she asked, leaning forward, her question carrying just as much demand as his conversation started had. Offense was always the best defence, anyway. "You didn't care last year, when I suggested that we use them to locate Dr. Gero's lab," she added, her voice taking on a cruel tone. "Are you scared you're not going to be strong enough now? Now you suddenly like my idea, huh?"

There was no warning, or at least, none that her brain could process in time. One second Vegeta was halfway across the room, the next he was leaning right over her, his bare hands _skin so warm_ curling ever-so-slightly around her wrists, delicate in their warning. As she gasped, her heart practically in her throat, he leaned in to whisper oh-so-cool in her ear. "Careful now."

She closed her eyes, trying desperately to shut out at least some of the stimuli overloading her brain. _God damn_ he smelled good after a shower. _Fuck._

"Look," she said, managing to make her voice sound calm even though she was sure he knew how much he scared the shit out of her. "I know you like to do the whole Mr McCreepy act, but that's not the only way to get your way." She leaned back, putting some distance in between their bodies was necessary or she was going to do something stupid, like kiss the bastard, and thankfully he pulled away too. The McCreepy comment offended him; she could tell by the slight pout on his face.

"Just tell me where the dragonballs are," he snarled. She sighed, another demand.

"Well you know how this works, right? You have to find them one-by-one – I have no idea where they are."

"You have that – that _thing_ ," he gestured, upper lip curling in distaste. _Oh boy, he's in a funny mood._ Bulma never could resist the urge to tease.

"What thing?"

"The thing that looks like a fucking watch!" Vegeta yelled suddenly, his cheeks red _oh-my-god he's blushing_. Gohan _had_ told her about his little trick on Namek, and suddenly it all made sense. "It's a locator!"

"Oh, _that_ thing," she said, with just enough exaggeration to get another snarl from him. "You mean the radar."

"Yes I mean the fucking radar. Hand it over."

"No."

Vegeta looked as if he were about to explode. Bulma rose from her seat, and took a step forward into very dangerous territory, but she was too far gone to back down now.

"Why do you want it? Do you need to use a _wish_ to get stronger than Goku?"

For an instant, he looked as if he would fry her then and there. Then he took a deep breath (she did her best not to get distracted by the sight of those pecs straining through his t-shirt) and spoke through gritted teeth: "I am going to wish for the same thing I was always going to wish for, idiot."

" _Immortality?_ " she asked, "Why?"

"What do you mean, _why?_ "

"Because being immortal would be absolute _shit_. Just ask Roshi." She stepped back, tilting her head to examine him. "Seriously, think of all the crap things that have happened to you in the past what – thirty years? – and then times that by infinity… why would you want to do that to yourself? I mean, hey, by all means go and live forever and experience the heat death of the universe in all its glory."

He frowned at her, his pout more pronounced than before, and she realised that she had perhaps just crushed the dream he's been secretly harbouring for years. In the awkward silence, the only noise was the TV, reporters blathering away about nothing.

"Roshi is the old man." It wasn't quite a question. Vegeta wasn't good at asking questions, it seemed.

"Yes, Roshi is the old man," she replied, her voice much softer than before. "He lives on an island. Fly southeast."

There was a sound like fabric ripping, as if the air itself had been torn. Bulma stood in the midst of flying magazines and newspapers, the sofa tipped on its back, and the curtains torn loose from their rods from the sheer force of Vegeta flying out the window.

She pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and dialled Roshi's number. "Hey, I'm really sorry, but Vegeta's going to land on your doorstep in about an hour," she spoke down the phone.

* * *

Muten Roshi, Grand Old Master of the Turtle School of Martial Arts, had been warned to expect a visitor, and so when a _very_ angry young alien man landed in front of him, kicking up sand and disturbing his pile of dirty magazines, he wasn't surprised.

"Bulma told me you were coming," he said to Vegeta, gesturing to the empty chair that had fallen sideways in the sand. "Have a seat." He didn't mention that Krillin, Turtle and Oolong had all conveniently gone to town for the day upon hearing the news of Vegeta's impending arrival.

Vegeta stared down at the fallen chair in disdain, and scoffed wide-eyed as his gaze shifted over one of the magazines, lying open on the centrefold. Roshi chucked. "Don't you get that in space?" he asked conversationally.

Cheeks red, Vegeta stepped forward, growling. "You're immortal," he said. "Tell me how."

Roshi frowned, recognising that Vegeta was not going to listen to anything bar the bare facts. "I drank the one and only elixir for eternal life, and I still managed to die once. It's not worth it."

"You didn't use the dragonballs."

Roshi rocked back in his chair, staring up at the boy. This was the first time he'd ever been so close to the Prince, and at this distance he could get a good reading on his aura. _Anger, frustration, resent, loneliness_. The boy had a nasty mix of emotions whirling around in that heart of his, topped with more impatience than even Bulma possessed. He was surprised those two hadn't managed to kill each other yet.

He chuckled under his breath as he watched Vegeta's aura practically squirm under his gaze, even though the boy maintained a relatively calm (for him) appearance. "No, I did not use the dragonballs for my immortality, but there is someone who did. He's currently floating in a meaningless void after being defeated, and will remain that way for eternity. It's not worth it, son."

Roshi rose from his chair, his old back creaking painfully as he turned towards the house. "Come get something to eat, and then I will talk," he told Vegeta over his shoulder, trusting that the young man would follow him. A Saiyan boy's mood improved with food; training Goku had taught him that much.

As expected, Vegeta followed him inside, and sat wordlessly at the table while Roshi pulled some things out of the refrigerator. He sat back and watched the boy eat for a minute, choosing his words wisely.

"You want immortality so you can't be beaten in battle," Roshi spoke, removing his sunglasses so he could look Vegeta in the eye. The boy paused his chewing for a moment, and nodded once, before biting into a fresh sandwich.

"You don't think that it will take away from the pleasure of a battle?"

Vegeta's chewing slowed, just enough to show Roshi that he was listening.

"When I first drank the elixir of eternal life, I thought it would do the same – stop all forms of death. I thought I'd stay young forever," Roshi sighed, catching Vegeta's eye. "I was wrong, obviously. But there was a good twenty years when I thought I was entirely invincible, and it made me feel numb, more than anything. What's the point in enjoying anything when you're going to live forever, that you're going to experience the same things over and over and over again? What's the point in feeling the thrill of risk in the middle of a fight, if you know that you can't die? What's the point?"

"Besides, if you can't die in battle, you've already won. It's cheating. I've known Goku since he was a young boy, so I know a fair bit about you Saiyans and how you work, more than you probably realise." Roshi raised his hand, halting Vegeta's denial. "I'm talking about instincts, son, not culture. I don't know how things were done on your planet, but I know what makes Goku tick, and I see the same in you. It's in your blood."

"So, do I recommend immortality for a young man whose greatest pleasure is beating the shit out of someone and coming close to death at the same time? No. If there's no death, there's no risk. No risk, no pleasure for you Saiyans, pure and simple. Correct me if I'm wrong."

Silence filled the room. Vegeta stared at his food, and Roshi observed his aura once more. He certainly felt a little calmer.

"I had a son, a long time ago," he told the boy, who now met his gaze from across the table. "He lived a good life, a long life. He had a son, and when he was old, he died. I've seen generations of my descendants live and die, I've even trained some of them," he added, "though they wouldn't know their strength is hereditary. If you live long enough you begin to realise how little worth _you_ , as an individual, have. My descendants don't remember my name – they weren't even told it. History doesn't remember me. Twenty years ago I had another patch of fame, I was a known martial artist, but the world moves on, and to most people two decades is a long time. Hurcule Satan is the name everyone's talking about now; even Goku is old news."

"My point is, you can be immortal, but you can't control what goes on around you. Perhaps you'd live to become the strongest fighter in the universe – in fact I don't doubt that at all – but you're the last of your kind. Who will remember your people in a hundred years, other than yourself? Who will you talk to? Who will you trust? Will you watch your children die, like I have? No parent should have to bury their child."

"I don't plan on having children."

Roshi smiled, though there was no humour is his expression. He understood Vegeta's attempt to pull the conversation away from the truths he was speaking; Roshi could tell he was hitting home, as disappointing as it was to the Saiyan. "You might change your mind someday," Roshi said, "or you might just make a mistake. Look at Goku – his wife pregnant at eighteen."

"Stop comparing me to Kakarot. I'm nothing like that idiot."

"I know you're not. You have a bigger brain in that head of yours. Use it. If what you have now is not _enough_ to satisfy you, immortality will only make it worse." Roshi stood, stretching his tired muscles. "The elixir didn't stop me from aging, and now I'm an old man. I'm going to take a nap. Stay as long as you want."

Roshi was halfway up the stairs when he heard the tell-tale sound of someone taking flight, a sonic boom shaking the house a minute later. He shuffled into his bedroom, laying his tired old bones down on his bed.

* * *

 _Ten years later_

Bulma stood on the edge of the crater, the great yawning mouth of it stretching a mile wide. On the far side stood the few remains of Babidi's ship, nothing more than a white lump in the distance.

Weeks had passed, and she still felt sick thinking about it all. Vegeta's Majin episode hurt, but not as much as the thought that she had very nearly faced a life without him.

She didn't know why she came to the place that he had died in an attempt to save her. For closure, perhaps. She did know that he had followed her here, and so spoke into the wind.

"I guess, when everything started happening, I had sort of hoped that you had taken the dragonballs secretly all those years ago and wished for immortality. The thought of you dying terrifies me."

Vegeta touched down behind her, and she leaned back against him. "No," he spoke to the top of her head. "We're both mortal, and that's the way it should be. This life with you… it is enough."


End file.
